


Balaram

by GlyphArchive



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlyphArchive/pseuds/GlyphArchive
Summary: Perhaps he is not quite so notable as Krishna; but Balarama is fairly certain that he does well enough for himself.
Kudos: 10





	Balaram

“You do not have to fight for him.” The words roll indolently enough off the other’s tongue; lead perhaps by the wine they have been drinking and the dice game before them. Balarama frowns, honey turning bitter on his tongue as he waits for the pieces to be cast. His silence earns a sigh, but ivory clinks against itself and the floor once they’ve been tossed. His opponent drinks deep again, smiling wider now as he leans forward to prop an elbow on one knee.

“What does it get you, really?” His fellow wonders as Balarama picks up the dice, rattling them gently in his palm. “For _years_ Kanha has bedeviled you, made trouble and then left you to clean up his mess. And,” drawing himself up into something like a proper sitting position he adds, “It was _you_ who tilled the fields, tamed the crops, and made certain things got done. All the while your brother lazed away whole days among the women, or stole butter from the kitchens.”

Balarama gave the dice a careful toss, reaching for his drink after his luck revealed itself. Immediately his opponent’s expression sours, disbelief writ clear across familiar Yadava features. In response, Balarama treated himself to another long sip of his wine; pleased to find it had recovered a little of its flavor.

“Your point?” He asked, setting his mostly empty cup down. “There is no need to recount _everything_ you might have heard. I lived it, while you have only rumor to base your assumptions on.”

A flush which had nothing to do with wine colored the other man’s face, crept down his neck and painted itself over his chest. Still, he tried to pluck up what dignity he could while passing the majority of his winnings to Balarama’s side.

“It only seems that such loyalty shall never be rewarded.” Tone low, he passes over the last of his winnings with a mulish expression. “At least not properly. You could do _better_ , everyone knows; but you linger at his side like a faithful maid.”

Balarama snorted, draining his cup with disinterest. “We are done here.” He announced, collecting what he wanted from the pile and leaving the rest.

* * *

“I admire you, _Dau_.” Chin propped on folded hands, Krishna’s expression bordered on pensive as he watched his brother wind down from mace practice. It was the first he’d spoken all day, that Balarama was aware of; since he’d plopped himself onto a stone big enough to call a seat that morning when Balarama had first begun his morning stretches.

In a miraculous show of patience and stillness, his little brother hadn’t moved an inch since then. It made Balarama wonder, distantly, if this was a prelude to some new bit of mischief that he just hadn’t caught wind of yet.

“Oh?” He answered at last, wiping away the worst of the sweat trickling from his face. His muscles ached pleasantly, a reminder that he’d made another bit of progress with his craft. “How so? It cannot be my mace which impresses you, Kanha. You’ve never shown an interest in learning with it.”

A light jab, maybe. But he knew for a fact that Krishna had been called and received far worse insults than laziness or distractedness.

Had Krishna laughed, or made some joke of his own, Balarama would have dismissed it. Instead his brother said nothing, continuing to study him with an indecipherable look as seconds ticked by. Only when unease began to stir in Balarama’s stomach at the continued silence did Kanha finally move; reaching down to grasp the water skin Balarama had failed to notice and gently toss it to him.

“I do admire you.” Krishna answered at last, after Balarama caught the skin and drank his fill from it; elbows propped on his legs and hands folded once more. He spoke so quietly that Balarama almost didn’t hear him at first, that pensive look blocking out whatever else he might be feeling. “Is that so very hard to believe?”

“And what is this about?” Balarama returned Krishna’s question with one of his own, frowning. The unease he’d felt had only deepened into something bordering on real worry. “Truth be told, to see you spend a day not in the thick of trouble is a blessing. But to spend it at my side as you have today is… unusual. Are you ill?”

_That_ earned him a winsome smile in response, but it didn’t last. Like fog obscuring the sun his brother’s mirth faded, leaving Krishna strangely distant once more.

“Whether you believe me or not,” Kanha grunted as he stood, stretching out his limbs with faint disinterest. “Is up to you, _Dau_. But Aditya is returning home, and soon it will be cold.” Hopping off his rock Kanha circled around him, quiet as a shadow; one hand lightly touching Balarama’s shoulder in passing. “It would not do for you to catch something and remind us all of what a terrible bed patient you are.”

Now _that_ sounded like the Kanha he knew. Even so, Balarama considered him suspiciously as he lifted his mace up onto his shoulder once more.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Balarama pointed out. “Is there something which has brought this mood over you, Kanha?” _Something you would actually tell me, for once?_

“Didn’t I?” Krishna mused, turning fluidly on his heel to meet Balarama’s eye curiously; walking backwards as though he wasn’t worried about missing a step or tripping at all. He smiled bright and warm, dark eyes twinkling; deceptively _himself_ again. “Now, you should hurry up. We’ll miss our supper if you only tarry, _Dau_.”

He turned away from Balarama with a short laugh, fingers curling around the flute he adored and rarely allowed out of his sight; bringing it up to start playing one of the songs they’d learned as boys in Gokul. Balarama followed along warily, half expecting some prank as they walked. It never came, but the walk seemed shorter than normal; the music of Kanha’s flute pushing aside the fatigue now attempting to creep throughout his body.

* * *

“You must think I am mad.” Revati doesn’t sigh, but there is a guardedness in her eyes which looks familiar and Balarama wonders just how many have told her that she was for her to believe it so. “I am aware of how it sounds. But if you wish to secure a better yield for the year, I can promise this method will work.”

He believes her. Truly, he does. It is out of wonder rather than doubt which makes Balarama lower his eyes to study the diagrams she has made once more; tracing them with wholehearted appreciation as he attempts to find the right words to reply. To not put her any more on guard than she already is, though Balarama understands why she holds fast to that caution.

“Not mad.” He ventures after a moment, thinking of what materials they will need in order to put her ideas into practice. How long it might take and if he can wrestle more hands than his own onto this project. “Curious.” Balarama says thoughtfully. “Innovative. But not mad.”

Lifting his gaze from the table Balarama meets her eye squarely, even though he can feel a flush burn the back of his neck when he does.

“When shall we begin?” He asks, and although Revati does not relax completely; she lights up as though his willingness to cooperate were the best thing she might have hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly I just wanted to write about Balaram, since a lot of stories seem to focus more on Krishna.


End file.
